Twelfth Night at Eyre Hall Read Online Free PDF Page A

Bertha
Mason Rochester.
    There was no attic at Eyre Hall, but I
often walked up to Jane’s tower room, and gazed out of the window, over the
hills, where I guessed busy Millcote lay, and I wondered if my mother had had the
same view, but of course, she had been a prisoner in a windowless room, where I
was born. Perhaps that was why I couldn’t bear any type of confinement. I longed
to see the sky and smell fresh air, at all times. Could a baby remember such
early events? Could I remember my mother’s appearance if I tried hard enough?
Sometimes I thought I saw her face peering at me as she swirled her brown dress
amidst the tree trunks. She would have danced even in confinement. I was sure
she wore a brown dress, and her face was ugly and twisted like the knots on the
trees, but she smiled at me. She was glad I had come back. I would not feel so
comfortable here if she were not pleased with my presence.
    I had been to the parish cemetery and wandered
around the tombstones reading the names, dates of birth and death, and farewell
lines from the Bible. The Rochesters had a great vault inside the church. I had
often observed the marble tomb and the kneeling angel who guarded them. The
first Rochesters to be buried were Damer de Rochester, slain at Marston Moor in
1644, during the civil wars, and his wife Elizabeth, over two hundred years
ago. I wondered what it would feel like to know where my ancestors lay and what
their names were.
     My mother’s remains, on the other hand,
lay outside the church, on the edge of the graveyard, below a blank tombstone.
I often went there and prayed for her and for myself, on my own. Once, Jane had
taken a longer than usual walk with Nell, and saw me sitting by the empty
stone.
    “Annette, come back with us, my darling,
you’ll catch your death of cold sitting there, on the damp ground.”
    “Yes, Mrs. Mason,” I answered head bent,
tearing myself away from my mother’s side.
    “It would please me if you were to call
me Jane, Annette.”
    I nodded and walked back to the house
with them, wondering if she had asked me to call her by her Christian name
because she had become fond of me, or because she did not like to be addressed
by my uncle and mother’s surname.
    She surprised me by saying, “I’ll have
to speak to Mr. Woods about the headstone. We shall go to Millcote and order a
stonemason to cut a marble slab with your mother’s name on it, and her date of
birth and death. Would that please you, Annette?”
    Her offer brought a lump to my throat
and a sting to my eyes. I could not reply, so she spoke again. “We can go next
week. You need some new dresses, and so do I. I have lost weight, and you need
to look like the young and fashionable woman you are. We will go on Thursday. It
is when Mrs. Spark, the dressmaker, is in the store.”
    Jane did not seem to expect an answer. She
was obviously aware of my distress. She turned to Nell who was asking her the
names of the flowers and trees, which Jane patiently told her. They picked
various leaves and Jane suggested they dry the flowers and the leaves, and
stick them in a notebook with their names. I marvelled at her patience and
affection towards Nell. It was such a pity Jane had never had a daughter of her
own, and that Nell should have such an unsuitable mother. Jenny Rosset was so
obviously my uncle’s whore, and probably anyone else’s if they were prepared to
pay her charges. I disliked her enormously, and could not understand why she
had ever been employed at Eyre Hall. Fortunately, she spent most of her time sewing
below stairs, except when she was summoned to my uncle’s chamber.
    I wondered if Jane would have cared for
me, if I had stayed at Eyre Hall, as she cared for Adele. Could she have loved
me? Did she read my mind? When we arrived back in the house, she turned to me
again and spoke softly. “Annette, my dearest, I’m very glad you are here at
Eyre Hall with me. Remember, this is your home now.” She squeezed